


A Reason to Fight

by Luck_Kazajian



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Charon helps...kind of...in his own way, Despair, Elysium, Encouragement, Fights, Friendship, Gen, Hades - Freeform, Hope, The Coliseum, Theseus & Asterius Boss Fight, Zagreus loses focus but Thanatos is there to put him back on track
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27711668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luck_Kazajian/pseuds/Luck_Kazajian
Summary: Zagreus is tired. More tired than an immortal ought to be. The constant insults, fighting, bleeding, and dying are taking their toll on the fiery prince. And this time, when he reaches the coliseum in Elysium, he just can't bring himself to face Theseus again. Despite the boons of the Olympians. Despite Charon's offerings. That's just...not enough. But maybe...maybe Death is?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	A Reason to Fight

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently been back at it in Hades, trying to work my way out now that the official release is here! Yay! I've gotten all the way to Hades once (post-beta, anyway), but not past him yet. But, here's another lovely idea that I had for a oneshot with our favorite prince and ever-helpful Death. Thanatos and Zagreus' relationship in the game is one of my favorite parts and I just recently had the conversation with Achilles where he tells Zagreus to be gentle with Thanatos, because Than is suffering more than he lets on since he doesn't want Zag to leave the House. And that, coupled with my many, many deaths, sort of sparked this idea for a fic (which might sort of be reversing the roles of who's being gentle with whom) but I hope you enjoy! I kinda thought this fic was going to be written and posted all in one day, but it got a little longer than originally intended and I'm glad it did :)

**Zagreus**

This time, when I reach the coliseum in Elysium, I can’t bring myself to go in. I walk up to the gate and put my hand on the rough wood, hearing the thunderous cheering on the other side and something inside me breaks. I can’t. I can’t do this. 

Who am I to challenge the Hero of Elysium?

The fire around my feet dims. Ash dusts from my hair instead of sparks. I grip the hilt of the Stygian blade tighter, but I don’t feel its usual heat and exhilaration singing through my arm. I rest my forehead against the gate. The chanting of the crowd flows through me. I try to imagine they cheer for me, but I know they don’t. They never cheer for me. 

They only cheer for Theseus. And Asterius. 

I suppose I have some respect for the bull, an outcast, like me. Perhaps there is a small amount of mutual understanding between us. But any kind sentiment I have for him is utterly dashed by Theseus. How can Asterius stand to fight with that vile man?

Hero of Elysium. 

_Bah._

He’s nothing but a pompous fool. Everything about him is too clean, too perfect, too nice. Except when he deals with me. Then he is scornful and proud and wickedly perverse. And yet, the crowds love him still. 

And today...today I can’t bring myself to face that abuse again. 

I cannot pretend that his words don’t sting. I cannot pretend that I don't hear the insults, day in and day out from all corners of Hades. They lodge in my skin like thorns, tiny yet angry. Even the furies mock me and call me names, degrade me, belittle me. I am a murderer, a disappointment, a shame, a mortal, a monster, a mistake. 

I turn away from the door.

Toward Charon, the boatman, and his wares, sitting silent in the courtyard outside the coliseum. Charon watches me curiously, head tilted, lone eye glowing under his hat. “Hhrrrhnnnng?” 

I slump. “Charon, I can’t do it, mate.” 

He tilts his head the other way. “Huurrhnnnn?” 

I look down at myself, at my hands and feet, at my body. Whole, alive. I am not even particularly injured this time. A few scratches here and there, nothing serious. Nothing that will stop me from fighting Theseus. In fact, I just purchased a centaur’s heart from Charon and I feel more invigorated than ever -- physically.

“It’s...not that, Charon. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” 

“Hhggurruugg.”

“Maybe, I should just...go home.” 

Charon shakes his head with a particularly vehement, “Hhhhruuguuguh!!” 

“You think so?” 

Charon nods. 

I sigh and look back up at the coliseum gates. The walls tower far over my head, tall and granite and immaculate and draped in flowering vines and ivy. Pristine. Not on fire. Not ashy. Not burnt. Beautiful. Everything I’m not. So opposite of the way that everything in the lower levels of Hades is always red and angry and burning. Maybe Father is right. Maybe I don’t belong here. 

And if I don’t even belong in Elysium, which is still a part of my realm, then do I really belong on the surface? 

I walk away from the gate, away from Charon. 

“Hhuurrh?” 

“I just...need a minute, mate. That’s all.” 

Charon doesn’t follow me. I don’t think he knows how to leave his wares behind and since I didn’t buy everything, he feels obligated to stay. To sell. A bit of darkness glows enticingly in his shop and a message from Hermes I couldn’t afford. I walk over toward the river that flows beside the coliseum, away from Charon’s prying eye and find a little knoll to sit on. 

The grass feels nice under my hands, but it singes wherever my feet touch it. I sigh and flop back on the grass. The thundering cheers of the onlookers in the coliseum taunt me like a bad dream as I close my eyes. 

**Thanatos**

I can feel Zagreus nearby. I am making my rounds in Elysium, escorting new shades to their permanent residence when I feel him. It is strange, the way I can sense him. It is not like any other god down here, save his father, Hades. I feel Hades like a roaring, consuming fire. We all do. It is impossible to _not_ feel the presence of the Master of the House. 

By contrast, his son is softer, warmer. More like a pleasant blaze on a cold evening. 

But this time, Zagreus feels dimmer than usual. And I am going to find out why. Hades be damned. I rush the shades and they give me disgruntled looks, but I merely stare back at them. I am Death. There are not many who will argue with me, the already-deceased included. 

Which is one of the reasons that I find Zagreus both fascinating and frustrating as hell -- because he does argue with me. But, I suppose that for the immortal son of Hades, arguing with Death is an everyday thing. 

I appear in front of the coliseum in Elysium, scythe over my shoulder, ready to scold Zagreus, or whip him into shape, but he’s not here. Strange. I look around. The only being I see is Charon, standing dutifully next to his wares. Looks like Zagreus _was_ here, though. There’s one empty slot in Charon’s shop. Beside a message that appears to be from Hermes and some shimmering darkness. 

I walk up to the boatman-turned-shopkeep. “Hello, Charon.” 

“Hhnnnnhhhh.” His one glowing eye scrutinizes me from beneath his hat. We work closely, Charon and I. Which means I have almost come to understand his different grunts. I’ve never heard the boatman talk. I don’t know if that is because he doesn’t remember how or if it is because he chooses not to. Whatever the reason, it makes him seem intimidating. But not to me. Not to Death. There is not much that frightens Death. 

“Have you seen Zagreus?” I ask. 

Charon nods. 

I sigh. His silence can be very obtuse.

“Do you know where he is?” 

Charon nods again. 

I wait. 

Charon stares at me. 

“Well, then, where is he?” 

Charon sighs and raises one hand, a single finger pointing towards the river at the side of the coliseum. 

For a moment, I feel a pit of dread settle in my stomach. Does he mean that Zagreus threw himself into the river? But no, because I still feel Zag’s presence. If he jumped into the river, he would’ve been sent on a one-way express trip back to Hades. I would know. Hypnos would tell me. 

Which means Charon is simply pointing in the direction of the river. The last place he saw Zagreus. 

When I look more closely at the grass beside the shop, I see Zagreus’ soot-tinged footprints leading away.

I look back at Charon. “You don’t mind if I partake in a few of your wares, do you?”

“Huurrnrnhh.” 

I pull a handful of glittering obol from my pocket. It is not incredibly hard to come by, but still, the boatman values it above all else. I count the coin while he watches, making sure to add a few extra just for him. 

His eye glows brighter. 

“I trust that is sufficient?” I extend my hand and the pile of obol toward him. 

Charon takes one of my coin and makes a show of biting it. 

I look mock offended. “Come now, Charon, you don’t think Death deals in counterfeit coin, now, do you?” 

“Hhhrgggrggg.” 

“I _am_ offended. I thought we knew each other better than that.” 

Charon’s eye flickers for a moment in what I think is a wink. Then he pockets my coin. I slip the message and the darkness into my pockets. I wonder if Hermes can sense that I have touched his message, but I do not accept it. After all, it is not for me. 

“Thank you, Charon.”

“Hhrrrnnnn.” 

I turn and follow the river down beside the coliseum. 

And in the shadow of the amphitheatre wall, I find him. 

Zagreus looks very small, lying in the grass in Elysium, surrounded by green and blue and life -- everything that is so opposite of the lithe, red figure adorned in death. Zagreus’ hair blows softly in the ever-present breeze down (or should I say up?) here and his laurel crown flickers, sparks and embers dancing in his hair. They fizzle out as soon as they leave the prince’s body. The Stygian blade lies in the grass beside him, red and sharp, reflecting his fire. I approach slowly, carefully, quietly. 

Zagreus doesn’t seem to notice. 

I would almost say that he looks peaceful, splayed here in the grass, except for the glistening trails on his cheeks. I stop. Is Zagreus...crying? 

In all my time knowing the prince (and that’s quite a long time, considering that we’re both gods, even if he is a young one) I have never seen Zagreus cry. Not when Hades beat him for stealing ambrosia from the House wine stores, not when Megara ripped into him and broke his heart, not when he returned bloody and beaten after a particularly rough fight with the Bone Hydra. I have never once seen Zagreus broken before. 

I understand now why his flame burns duller. Why his presence is less intense. 

How many times has Zagreus tucked himself in some corner of Hades and allowed himself to break? How many times has he shed tears in the maze-like ruins of his Father’s domain, just to keep himself together when he’s in front of all of us? How long has he hidden?

I cough. “Zag.” 

He sits up in an instant, eyes flashing. He swipes a hand across his face and all evidence of the tears is gone, instantly vaporized by the heat of his fire. He scowls at me and a little of the flame returns to his crown. 

“Thanatos. What are you doing here?” 

“Looking for you. What else?” I cross my arms and look stern, but it is a show. I cannot stay mad at Zagreus. Especially not like this. 

Zag sighs and pulls his knees up, propping his elbows on them. “Well, you found me. Now what?” 

“I don’t know. You tell me. Why aren’t you fighting Mr. High-and-Mighty in there?” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder toward the coliseum. 

I see the briefest flash of something in Zagreus’ eyes before he answers. Fear? I’m not sure. 

Zagreus sighs. “I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, scattering sparks into the air. “I don’t want to.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “Since when does the Prince of Hades not want to fight?” 

“Since forever, actually,” Zagreus murmurs. 

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from fighting with me. And with your father. And with that skeleton outside your room.” 

Zagreus looks up at me with something that isn’t a smile twisting his mouth. 

I sit down on the grass in front of him, cross-legged, scythe leaning against my shoulder.

Zagreus looks away. “It’s all I’ve ever done, Than,” he finally says. “It feels like all I ever do. I fight. I was bred for war. I--” 

“You shouldn’t slight Achilles like that,” I interrupt. I’m being facetious, but I’m also serious. I know Zagreus is referring to his father with those last few statements, but perhaps forcing him to acknowledge something good in his life will help. 

“What?” Zag looks at me, those mis-matched eyes meeting my own. 

“You should not slight our finest warrior like that, Zagreus. Achilles might have taught you to fight, but he did not breed you for war. He would be saddened to hear you say that, I think.”

Zag huffs a breath, reaching down and twisting a few strands of grass between his fingers. Maybe thinking of our soft-spoken resident warrior, a shade we all hold in rather high regard. He looks pained. Finally, he says, “Than, I’m tired.” 

“Tired?” I tilt my head. Gods do not need sleep or rest, like mortals. Not in the strict sense of the word. Though sometimes we need a break from the monotonous, wearisome nature of our days. We do not have the vibrancy, the randomness of the mortals, although we try to pretend we do. Our toils are significantly more troublesome, repetitive, and never-ending. Immortality isn’t all fun. 

“Yeah. Tired. I...I’m just done.” 

I don’t like the way his chest tightens as he says it, the way his shoulders narrow, the way his whole body shrinks in defeat. 

“Even gods can use a little sleep sometimes,” I say. “Just ask Hypnos.” 

Zagreus looks back up at me, anger flashing in his eyes now. “No, I’m serious, Than. I’m done. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of the insults, of death --” 

I frown, but Zagreus forges on, oblivious. 

“-- of bleeding, of fighting so hard to reach something I can never have, of being put down and bloodied and beaten and _killed_ at every turn. Do you know what it feels like to _die,_ Than?” 

“I don’t.” Which feels like a very odd thing for the god of Death to say. 

“It _hurts_ . I don’t care what others say. Dying isn’t...it isn’t pleasant. I can feel it. I feel the wounds. I feel the insults. I _feel everything._ And I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep doing this.” 

I stare at Zagreus, for once, at a loss for words. Usually I have more than an abundance of things to say to my reckless brother (even though I know now that we are not really related, I still count Zagreus as family). We trade barbs and petty insults like arrows, but today...today I cannot spark life back into him with an insult or a challenge. I have never seen Zagreus this small, this alone, this _empty_ before. 

It hurts to see him like this. 

Pale and haggard, worn, exhausted. His vibrant flames dim and dull, his smile gone. I have to get him back on his feet. I cannot let Zagreus give up like this. Because, despite what I tell him in our challenges down here in the Underworld, I believe in him. I may not ever say this out loud, but I want him to succeed. I want him to reach the surface. I want him to find his mother. I want him to find himself. To know where he belongs. And if that isn’t here with me, well, then so be it. 

“Zag--” I begin. 

“Thanatos, kill me. Please,” Zagreus interrupts. 

“What?” I stiffen. 

“You’re Death. Kill me. Just get it over with now. Send me back.” 

There’s something in Zagreus’ eyes I’ve never seen before -- desperation, perhaps? I have never seen the prince of Hades beg. Not for anything. Because despite all his differences from his father, he is the same in one thing -- pride. Zagreus does not give in. Does not back down. Does not beg. 

I look him straight in the eye. “No.” 

Zagreus looks absolutely devastated, those mis-matched eyes begging for release. Begging for death. I know that look. I have seen it on many a mortal. After all, it is a distinctly mortal look. Only mortals reach the end of their proverbial rope, reach the point where they beg for Death to find them. Gods don’t bat an eye at setback. Because what are a few failures to an eternal being? 

Zagreus is eternal. And yet. There is something oddly mortal about him as well, and not just the color of his blood, as often noted by Alecto. 

“Than --” 

“No.” I interrupt before he can even get the request out a third time.

Zagreus’ expression shifts. Anger. Denial. “Kill me, Than. Do it!” 

“No.” 

Zagreus jumps to his feet, staring me down. I stand up. He has to tilt his head up slightly to keep looking me in the eye. I draw myself up to my full height. With my scythe over my shoulder, I look even taller. 

Zagreus flicks his hand and the Stygian blade disappears from the grass and reappears in his hand, fiery and hot. 

More of the prince’s fire returns, stoking his anger, fueling that spark in his red eye. “Are you scared, coward?” he demands. 

I lean forward and laugh at him. “Scared? Of you, godling? Zagreus, please. I have never been afraid of you.” 

“Then do it!” Zagreus bares his chest. “Kill me, Thanatos. Slay me, O Mighty Death!” 

I cross my arms and smirk. He’s invoking me, the little bastard. But it won’t work. “The answer’s still no, prince.” 

“You don’t think you’re strong enough?” he cocks an eyebrow, looking imperiously down his nose at me despite the fact that I am taller. 

Gods, but sometimes Zagreus looks exactly like his father. And acts like him too.

“I am more than strong enough,” I growl. “And we both know that.” That is a personal blow, insinuating that Death cannot kill. But I take it in stride. This time. Because I know that Zagreus needs to take out his anger on someone. Needs to dish out a little of what he’s been served for years. And if the Fates have decreed that I am that someone, then who am I to argue? After all, even Death answers to the Fates. 

“Then is it Father who holds you back? Are you afraid Hades will punish you for meddling in my affairs?” Zagreus’ words sting sharp. 

I bristle. “You _know_ that’s not true. I’ve meddled in your affairs on more than one occasion and I’m doing it here and now. Hades be damned.” 

That makes Zagreus blink. Step back. 

It is rare for someone to slander the Master in his own Realm, but I feel sure that our errant prince will not report my slip of the tongue. 

“Now you’re lying.” 

“I never lie, Zag.” My lip curls in a fierce smile. 

Zagreus stands there for a moment with no answer. He glares up at me, that fiery spark in his red eye, face shaded by strands of coal-black hair lit with sparks. Then he lunges. His fire blazes bright and those eyes flash as he brings the Stygian blade up, straight for my throat. I whip my scythe around and block his thrust, but it sets my arms ringing all the way up to my shoulders. I can feel the heat pouring off of him, almost as hot as the fields of Asphodel. 

We shudder, locked together, our strength nearly equal. 

Eye to eye. 

His mouth is turned down in a snarl, white teeth flashing in the firelight from his hair. Sparks singe my robe. 

I grin. This is the Zagreus I know. Fierce and determined. I meet force with force and shove Zagreus back. He skids across the grass, feet leaving trails of fire in his wake. 

“There’s the fire I know so well.” I smile and tilt my chin in a “come at me” gesture. 

Zagreus leaps and we fight. Back and forth, strike and parry, his sword, my scythe, slashing the air, rending the very atmosphere. It is a good thing that the crowds in the coliseum cheer so loudly -- nobody hears the little impromptu battle on the green outside.

Zagreus is fast and lithe, his strikes sure. I know he carries the blessings of the gods and I try to sense which ones as he attacks. 

“Ah!” I jump back. A band of lighting shoots up my left arm from Zagreus’ latest strike. “Zeus.” I grimace and barely manage to block Zag’s next strike, my left arm numb and stinging. He nearly sends me to my knees. His blade is swift and sure, as if guided by the Lady Artemis herself, seeking my heart with deadly accuracy. Not that Zagreus could kill me, not forever, anyway. I suppose I would materialize in the blood pool, as he does. See Death from the other side for once. Can I even do that?

Sharp pain on my cheek brings me back to the fight and I recoil, realizing that Zagreus has landed a hit. A shallow one, but a hit nonetheless. Silver-gold blood, pale and vibrant, drips down my face. I wipe a hand across my cheek and feel it sting, see the blood on my fingers as I wrap my hands around the haft of my scythe again. 

Zagreus barely gives me a break. With a shout, he lunges, feet moving faster than I thought possible, so quick, he’s a blur of fire and sparks. Lightning wreathes his hands and blade and there’s a fierce glint in his eye that reminds me all too much of Ares. 

I jump back, but he has me pinned against the Coliseum wall. My shoulders hit granite. I have nowhere to go. Our weapons clash, Stygian blade locked with deadly scythe. Lightning brings me to my knees. I grit my teeth, feeling my whole body arc. My fingers go numb. I drop my scythe. The Stygian blade goes for my throat. 

I cannot stop it. 

I kneel on the grass, waiting for Zag’s final blow. 

But it doesn’t come. 

He stops the blade mere inches from my throat. I feel the heat of it radiate against my skin. 

Something in Zagreus’ expression clears. Sparks fall from his hair and rain down on his shoulders and the grass around us. Zagreus is breathing hard, chest heaving. Sweat glistens on his skin. 

“You have Death at your mercy, Prince of Hades. What will you do now?” I ask. 

He stares at me, frozen, an odd expression on his face. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

Zagreus still doesn’t answer. But he also doesn’t move his blade. 

“If you are, I have something for you before you do. After all, I can’t use them.” I reach into my pocket, slowly, carefully, keeping my other hand out by my side, fingers spread. I pull out the message from Hermes and the darkness and offer them to Zagreus. 

He shudders with a deep breath then, and looks at me, confused. 

“If you want them, you might want to put the sword down, brother.” 

He looks at the sword as if seeing it for the first time. Looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. Then he stabs the blade into the ground, point-first. “Than, I hurt you.” 

“This?” I gesture to my face. “It’s nothing. What is a little blood to the god of death?” 

Zagreus looks like he might laugh or cry. I can’t tell which. 

“You fool. Why are you helping me like this?” 

“Because I’m tired of watching you come back to the House in defeat, Zagreus. I’m tired of watching you fall, of watching your father belittle you, of seeing the way they treat you in the House.”

Zagreus’ eyes widen. 

“I know I’ve told you before that I want you to stay, but it’s for selfish reasons. If staying will only hurt you, then I’d rather you go. So, here. Take these. They’ll help.” 

Zagreus reaches out with trembling hands and takes the darkness and the message from Hermes. His hands are warm as they brush mine. The darkness absorbs into his skin as soon as he touches it and the message orb floats just above his palm, quivering now that it has found its true recipient, waiting on him to speak the phrase that will open it. 

“Than, I--” 

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Zag.” I stand up and collect my scythe. 

Zagreus opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he can’t figure out what to say. 

“Just beat the hell out of Theseus for me, yeah? Because this time, I’ll be watching. And I’m sure as Hades not rooting for that stuck-up pig and his overgrown bull-headed friend.” 

I start to fade, green fire flickering at the edges of my body. 

“You’ll watch?” Zagreus looks surprised. 

“Yes.” 

Zagreus gives me a fierce smile, and he is vibrant and alive again, flame licking his body. “I’ll beat him just for you, Than. Thank you.” 

“Tch. Don’t get used to it.” I scowl, but there’s no real resentment behind it, and disappear. 

**Zagreus**

No one from the House has ever come to watch me compete in the coliseum. I can’t exactly blame them. They all have their own duties to attend to. And some of them wouldn’t come to watch me even if they could. 

But knowing that somewhere in that audience, someone is cheering for me, even if it’s only one someone, puts a little more fire in my step. I walk up to the gates of the coliseum and square my shoulders, hefting the Stygian blade.

Behind me, Charon mutters, “Hhrrgghrrrrr?”

I flash him a smile over my shoulder. “I’m ok, Charon,” I say and this time I mean it. “Thanatos found me.” 

Charon’s eye flashes and his jaw stretches in a gruesome attempt at what I think is a smile. On a skull it’s kind of hard to tell. 

“Hhrrururhrhruuhgg.” 

I laugh. “Thanks, Charon.” 

Then I put my hand on those rough wood planks and push the door open in a shower of sparks. 

Tonight I am going to win. Or today. Or whatever.

Because tonight I have a new purpose. Tonight, I am not just fighting for myself. I walk into the coliseum. 

“Ho, monster! Are you back for more?” Theseus greets me. But my eyes are not on him. My eyes are on the space above the gate behind him, the gate leading out of the coliseum, the gate to freedom. Thanatos lounges on top of the gate, curled into the curve of the angel's wing over the door, one leg swinging idly over the doorway. His scythe is laying in his lap. He makes a face behind Theseus’ back. I stifle a laugh. 

“Yes, hero, I’m back. And this time, you would do well to run.” 

“Run? The King of Elysium does not run! Not from a worm like you! Isn’t that right, Asterius?” 

Asterius snorts, but I almost think I see a flash of concern on his face. 

“Then fight me,” I say. “And lose.” 

“Ha!” Theseus crouches and readies his spear. Asterius hefts his axe. “I never lose, demon. Especially not to a monster like you.” 

But tonight? 

Tonight I make Theseus eat his words. Tonight Theseus loses. 

And the best part? 

Than’s smile as he waves me through the winner’s gate. 

Perhaps I am not as alone as I thought.


End file.
